


The Exact Qualifications of Road Head

by magicbubblepipe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs in a Car, M/M, PWP, Road Head, Sammy has a kink, Sibling Incest, Underage Sam, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/pseuds/magicbubblepipe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets his license and Sam discovers a new kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Exact Qualifications of Road Head

 

            If Sam is being completely honest, he’s always had a thing for Dean behind the wheel. Something about the way he and the Impala seem to meld into one, the way Dean’s hands fit just right around the cracked leather. It’s in the way the rumble of the engine seeps right into his bones and he sinks into the seat, knees spread wide and confident, at such ease the way Sam hardly ever is.

            He just hasn’t really been aware of this particular kink of his until Dean actually gets his driver’s license. See, before that, there had always been the barrier of Dad in the car, even wounded or sleeping as his oldest son takes the wheel but now, it’s just Sam riding shotgun and Dean with that lazy, satisfied grin as he cranks the ignition. The way it is right this minute as Sam slides into the worn vinyl seat and creaks the door shut.

            He’s just finished his last day of school on his last day in this craphole town before they move onto the next and it’s just him and Dean and the stretch of road that’ll take them to meet their dad two states over. Dean wastes no time peeling out of the school parking lot and burning rubber down the sun-parched road.

            Trees line either side of the nearly vacant highway and it would be eerie to someone who wasn’t a Winchester or whom had never traveled through Missouri. As it is, Sam is left alone with nothing but his thoughts to the background music of AC/DC as Dean taps the steering wheel along with the drums. Sam’s eyes fixate on Dean’s capable hands and drift along up his arms, curving around strong biceps and up his neck to find his ridiculous mouth form words that Sam has long since memorized and learned to ignore.

            Unavoidably, his gaze follows the line of Dean’s body straight down to his inevitably splayed legs where he slouches comfortably in the seat. Sam swallows, heat prickling up his neck and trickling downward to fill his cock. He shifts slightly, hoping to make the growing tent in his jeans less obvious. Dean notices him fidgeting and casts a chastising look his way.

            “You don’t have to pee already do you? I know you’ve got a bladder the size of a friggen’ walnut but we’ve only been on the road for ten minutes!”

            “No, Dean,” Sam grumps back and turns to look out the window. He feels Dean’s eyes on him for a moment more but he soon returns his attention to the road.

            Meanwhile, Sam tries to think of anything not involving sucking, riding, or stroking his brother’s dick. Of course, that only allows his brain to search for other words like ‘lick’ or ‘hump’. Long story short, his problem is no closer to going away and he’s getting a little desperate for something to happen. It’s not like he and Dean have never touched each other that way, but only ever in the dead of night and they never ever talked about it. So right now, Sam’s having a mental war over whether Dean would abide getting his dick sucked by his little brother in broad daylight.

            And the thought of that, of finally actually getting his mouth on Dean like he’s wanted since that first desperate handjob, is enough to make him squirm. And look at Dean. Stare at Dean. Like if he looks at him long enough, he’ll just whip it out and tell him to go to town. But Dean is still singing along to Back In Black and Sam’s dick is so hard he could hammer nails.

            Before he can talk himself out of it and remember all the ways he could fuck up the tenuous deal they have going on, Sam slides closer to Dean. Dean cuts his eyes to him only briefly, probably thinks Sam was just uncomfortable. And then Sam slides his palm from Dean’s knee, up the firm length of his thigh, which tenses and jerks in Dean’s surprise.

            Green eyes stare wide at Sam’s hand where it rests warm and final on his leg and then back up to Sam. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but Sam cuts him off by placing his hand deliberately on Dean’s crotch and squeezing. Dean lets out a breathless little grunt of a sound and the car swerves just a little before he gets it back under control. Sam takes in a shuddering breath and starts working his fingers around the line of Dean’s hardening, (definitely hardening) cock.

            “Sam-mmyy…” Dean groans softly, voice gravel rough where it drags sweet and harsh up Sam’s spine.

            “Dean,” he says back because he can’t think of a better word to convey such an intense desire as this.

            Dean says nothing else but makes no move to stop him, the leather of the wheel creaking under the tightening grip of his hands. Sam keeps rubbing him, squeezing along the shaft and rubbing his thumb over the ridge of the head where it’s now standing in stark relief from his leg. Dean shifts his hips, seeking more friction or trying to get away, Sam’s not sure but he prays to whomever listens that it’s not the latter.

            When he’s hard, really hard and Sam can feel the heated pulse against his hand, he bravely goes for the button and zip of Dean’s fly. A sharp intake of breath from Dean and he looks down long enough to see Sam’s tanned, slender fingers pulling his cock out through his pants and he lets out a desperate kind of moan that makes the blood whoosh in Sam’s ears.

            He’s got the full length of Dean in his hand now, in the light of day where he can see every gorgeous inch, the flush of the head and the shiny glisten of pre-come that makes his mouth water. He watches, mesmerized as he slowly strokes him, fascinated by the way he gets wetter and wetter every time the tip shoves through the circle of his hand. There’s no way around it. He’s got to get him in his mouth like right fucking now.

            With no preamble and no overthinking, Sam ducks down under Dean’s arms and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth. “SHIT, FUCK! SAMMY!” Dean shouts, hips jerking as he tries not to wreck the car. Sam only hums with satisfaction at the hot weight of Dean on his tongue, his rich taste even better than he imagined. He grips the base firmly and leans his weight on Dean’s legs so he can’t buck up and choke him before he plunges his mouth down a little further.

            He takes small increments at a time, swirling his tongue along the underside, pulling off to the tip to collect more salty drops before dipping back down a little lower than before. Dean’s shifting his hips futilely, his foot leaden on the gas as Sam explores his length like it’s the best thing he’s ever had his mouth on. He lets out little puffs of air and sounds he won’t admit to being whimpers as that molten wetness swallows him deeper and deeper.

            Since Sam’s new to this whole dick sucking thing, there’s only so far he can go before he chokes. Admittedly, he’s doing a damn impressive job because Dean’s _seriously_ packing. He vows to get Dean’s dick as far down his throat as it can go as soon as they have a decently sized horizontal surface but for now, he pumps the rest with his hand, the movement slicked up from pre-come and spit that’s dribbled down.

            When he starts bobbing his head in earnest, Dean really starts to make some noise. He drops one hand from the wheel onto the back of Sam’s head, twining his fingers in his hair to tug while he moans and spills profanities. Sam starts grinding his own dick into edge of the seat and groans around his mouthful, feeling embarrassingly close to coming in his pants.

            Sam doesn’t hear the sirens until Dean is roughly yanking him off his cock. He lets out a noise of protest which turns to a noise of horror and he shuffles back to his side of the car and quickly fastens his seatbelt. Dean is swearing, “shit, shit, shit,” as he shoves his painfully hard erection back into his jeans and pulls over into the shoulder.

            A few moments later and the crunch of gravel brings a police officer in his mid-fifties up to Dean’s rolled down window.

            “Afternoon, officer,” Dean says with a voice he hopes is even.

            “You know how fast you were driving there, son?” the officer asks from under his outdated mustache.

            “Uh…”

            “75,” he replies, lifting his heavy brows, “That’s ten over.”

            Dean looks up the man, trying out his best sheepish grin, “I’m so sorry officer. I just got my license,” he hands over aforementioned credentials for the officer to see. “I guess I’m just really nervous because it’s my first time driving without my dad.”

            The officer looks from the license and back to Dean, considering. Luckily for Dean, the flush on his face and the light sheen of sweat play in his favor for the nervous teen driver bit he’s playing at and the guy decides to let him off the hook with a warning, just this once.

            They wait in a tense silence as the cop returns to his car and pulls back onto the road. They break it simultaneously with horrified laughter. When they lock eyes across the emptiness of the bench seat, the laughter ends as soon as it begun and in a flurry of movement, Sam is crossing the gap between them and shoving his face right back into Dean’s crotch.

            Liberated from actually driving, Dean can now turn a little and give Sam better access to yank his jeans back open and engulf his cock in sloppy, delicious heat. His head thunks back against the window with a rush of sound dredged up from someplace low and gritty and it makes Sam’s balls ache. He’s pumping his mouth and hand in tandem, teasing the slit when he discovers how much noise Dean makes when he does, learning to pull back when it gets too intense so Dean’s trembling with the need to come.

            Dean’s hand is twisting in his hair, just shy of pushing him down and he’s nearly biting his lip straight through with the effort of not rocking his hips. Sam’s other hand is providing something solid and warm for his own clothed dick to hump when the knowledge of Dean steadily flying apart beneath him becomes too much to handle.

            When Dean starts making these addictive, short little sounds, Sam focuses his attention on the head, bobbing fast and dirty, hollowing his cheeks to suck him harder, eking out more wetness until Dean is pulling on his hair, telling him ‘he’s gonna-‘ and Sam doesn’t even try to back off. Dean’s release hits the back of his throat and Sam comes instantly, his resulting groan vibrating up Dean’s shaft and prolonging the length of time he writhes and shoots into his mouth.

            Sam strokes firm and slow around the base, sucking steady around the head to take everything he’s got because now that he’s had a taste, he wants it all and imagines he always will. He keeps rocking his hips into his own hand until his softening dick gets too sensitive against the wet, scratchy fabric so he employs that hand to gently stroke Dean’s balls.

            Dean’s almost keening now, his cock jerking for the last time with a short spurt of come and the pleasure is blurring into pain. Sam lets him go reluctantly and flops back over to his side of the car to catch his breath. When the sweet, fuzzy haze starts to leave his brain, he notices how sticky and disgusting his pants are. He grimaces down at the wet spot and shifts around, only to feel the pull of drying jizz on sensitive skin. He’s almost afraid to look at Dean now that the moment has come and gone, afraid that without the daze of arousal he won’t want him anymore.

            “Sammy.”

            His stomach jumps and he meets his brother’s eyes with hopeful trepidation. “Yeah?”

            “You think this still counts as road head or do you actually have to come while driving?”

            Sam lets out a laughing breath of relief. “I don’t really know the exact qualifications,” he replies with mock seriousness, “Better try it again sometime. Just to be sure.”

            Dean nods, “Glad we concur.”

            “Concur? That’s a big word for you.”

            “It’s not big; it’s like…” he counts, “six letters long.”

            Sam snorts, “I rest my case.”

            “Shut up, bitch.”

            “Jerk.”

            They smile.


End file.
